AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Becca tried to woo him to sit on the couch beside her, but when she went to pick him up, he sidled away and paced in front of the glass. Unnerved by his behavior, she picked up the paper and slid it from its plastic sleeve. Her eye fell on a picture of statue. The Madonna inside the maze at St. Elizabeth’s. The bold headline read: BOYS DISCOVER HUMAN SKELETON INSIDE MAZE.
Her lips parted in shock.
The teakettle shrieked and Becca gave an aborted scream. Ringo flew into frenzied barking. It took long moments before she could calm the dog and her own rocketing pulse enough to actually read the article about the body found on the grounds of the private high school she’d attended, a school now being razed.
When she was finished, she counted her still-accelerated heartbeats and stared at the rivulets of rain running down her window, her thoughts far from this miserable Valentine’s Day, her deceased husband, and whatever had spooked Ringo.
Her mind slid easily into the past and those days of high school. She knew the skeletal remains belonged to Jessie Brentwood, the girl from her vision, the friend from high school who’d disappeared without a trace, the girlfriend of Hudson Walker, Becca’s own secret crush and the father of Becca’s unborn child, had he but known it.
Jezebel “Jessie” Brentwood. Sixteen when she disappeared.
She’d come to Becca in a dream today.
Jessie had said something. Something important. While the wind had tossed her hair and she’d eased her toes over the edge of the cliff. Her whispered words meant something. Something Becca needed to understand, yet didn’t.
“Jessie…” she said aloud, her gaze dropping to the newspaper and the ghostly image of the Madonna statue. “What happened to you?”
Chapter Two
Sam McNally stood hatless in the rain, examining the taped-off areas the crime scene technicians had painstakingly combed over the last twenty hours. The crowd had thinned, the press long gone, most of the officers either home or on duty elsewhere. Tonight the area was a dark, soggy, muddy mess. The bones had been removed and the techs were doing what they could with them. Preliminary findings said the bones were from a girl, around fifteen or sixteen years old. If these remains weren’t Jezebel Brentwood, he would eat a kangaroo, something his son had said too often to count back when Levi was a toddler.
He glanced around the overgrown maze where berry vines wound and grappled their way through the once-tended hedges. There had been talk years ago, rumors, that the maze had been planted by a rogue priest at war with the bishop and archdiocese, that there were secrets hidden in the verdant labyrinth, but they were largely disputed and laughed about. An urban legend that just wouldn’t die, held by conspiracy theorists. But then there was the very real murder of a student years before, a boy by the name of Jake Marcott who literally took one through the heart-at the Valentine’s Day dance, no less. A perfect irony. Killed in this very maze over twenty years earlier.
And now these bones.
A girl, in her mid-teens. The techs had found her pelvis, but some of the other bones had been scattered, the skeleton not intact, fragments missing or in the wrong place, as if animals had dug through the shallow grave and pulled her apart. One of her ulnae had been located six feet away, under the hedge, pulled from her right arm. There were other scattered bones as well, and what was left of her had been hauled away in bags to be reassembled in the morgue. A gruesome job, but one he thought he might have the stomach to observe.
Who are you kidding? Just the thought of her beautiful body being torn apart churns your stomach.
He scowled into the darkness. “Damn it all to hell,” he muttered and glanced at the excavation site, a shallow grave at the base of the statue of Mary. What kind of sick bastard killed and buried her with a private marker?
Had he buried her here so he could return and relive the killing? Or pay penance? Leave flowers on her unmarked grave? It had happened time and time again; even now there were dried remnants of roses that had been placed at the base of the Madonna, roses now saturated with rain and mud and carted off to the lab.
You son of a bitch, he thought, I’m gonna find you, and I know just where to look.
“Hey, Mac!” One of the techs waved him over to the base of the statue. The Madonna was tilted, still serene, arms uplifted to the heavens, well, now…kind of skewed, but you got the idea.
Rain slipped icy fingers down his neck, but he ignored it as he picked his way over the sticky clods of mud. His boots weighed double their usual amount, they were so caked with the gooey dirt.
“Yeah?” No one called him Sam. No one ever had, or probably ever would, he guessed.
“You think you found her, huh?”
In the shadowy weird, eerie illumination cast by the klieg lights, Mac gazed at the man coolly. It had been a thing around the department for twenty years-his need to learn the truth about Jessie Brentwood’s disappearance. And though it generally didn’t bother him much, he found it incredibly annoying that his interest in the case even had the techs pausing in their work to theorize and jaw and wonder. Pissed him off no end.
Not that he didn’t understand it. He didn’t like to admit it, but he had been obsessed about the girl. It had eaten at him in a way he’d never experienced before or since.
“You got something f
or me?” Mac asked. “Or you just want to talk?”
“You could be right, is all. Sure looks like it might be that girl. Jaime.”
“Jessie.”
“You said right from the start that she was murdered. Killed by that group of boys, then covered up. Twenty years…” He shook his head in wonder. “Twenty goddamn years.”
Almost to the day, Mac thought, but didn’t add fuel to the fire.
